The rain beat upon them and the wind soughed in the trees. It seemed to get darker and darker, yet Roberto never hesitated for direction, and setting Ruth down upon her own feet, helped her on till they came to a well-traveled road.
Not far ahead was a light. Ruth knew at once that it was a lamp shining through the windows of some farmhouse kitchen.
"There they will take you in," Roberto said. "They are kind people. I am sorry I could not bring away your own clothes and your bag. But it could not be, Missy."
"Oh! you have been so good to me, Roberto!" she cried, seizing both of his hands. "However can I thank you—or repay you?"
"Don't be too hard on Gypsy—on my old grandmother. She is old and she is a miser. She thought she could make your friends pay her money. But now we will all leave here in the morning and you shall never be troubled by us again."
"I will do nothing to punish her, Roberto," promised Ruth. "But I hope I shall see you at the Red Mill some time."
"Perhaps—who knows?" returned the youth, with a smile that she could see in the dark, his teeth were so white. "Now run to the door and knock. When I see it opened and you go in, I will return."
Ruth Fielding did as she was bidden. She entered the gate, mounted the porch, and rapped upon the kitchen door. The moment she looked into the motherly face of the woman who answered her knock, the girl knew that her troubles were over.